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— CHICAGO 

J9 37 - 

^ ******** * i 1 I > » > \ ^ 









COPYRIGHT, 1937, BY ALBERT WHITMAN & COMPANY 





For one Kit, two Kays 
and 

three little Seymours 


LITHOGRAPHED IN THE U. S. A. 


sat, 


OCT 11 1937 


1 1 0354 


Ci/\ 
















TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Page 

Hans Christian and His Family 

. . . 5 

The Little White Goat .... 

. . . 13 

Hans Christian Has a Secret 

. . . 17 

Market Day. 

. . . 24 

Hans Christian Keeps Shop 

. . . 29 

Through the Castle Park 

. . . 35 

The Parade of the King’s Guard 

. . 41 

The Round Tower. 

. . 50 

An Adventure . 

. . . 57 

The Tivoli Gardens .... 

. . . 63 

A Folk Dance Festival .... 

. . . 68 

Visitors. 

. . . 74 

Hans Christian’s Birthday 

. . . 77 













































































HANS CHRISTIAN AND HIS FAMILY 

H A-PSEE! Ha-psee! Ha-psee!” 

Hans Christian woke up because he had to sneeze 
and because he had to sneeze again. Lusty, tumbling 
sneezes they were, for they belonged to a lusty, tumbling lad. 
His name was Hans Christian Clausen. His father and mother 
were Mr. and Mrs. Clausen. And they lived in the old, old town 
of Elsinore in the old, old Viking country of Denmark. 
“Ha-psee! Ha-psee! Ha-psee!” 

Something tickled in Hans Christian’s nose. He sniffed and 
he yawned and he sniffed again. 

“Mother,” he called, “what are you doing? Are you baking 
by any chance?” 

In peeped Mother through the door and with her came a 
marvelous whiff of fresh baked bread and morning coffee. 
“Good morning, dear.” Her voice sounded bright and clear. 


5 












“Do you know it’s only six o’clock? Your father is not up yet.” 

Hans Christian looked at his mother. 'Your face is pink, 
Mother, and your eyes are dancing. But what I wanted to ask 
you is—may I have a slice of bread the minute I’m up, please? ’ 

“I will see what I can do about it.” The door closed and 
Hans Christian heard his mother hum a tune in the adjoining 
kitchen. No, he could not stay in bed another second. One, 
two, three—out! 

“Splash-sh-sh-sh.” Cold water Hans Christian poured from 
the blue pitcher into the blue basin. 

“Dip-p-p-p.” Into the water he dipped his chubby hands. 

“Flop-p-p-p.” Into the water he flopped his rosy face. He 
soaped it and he scrubbed it, especially behind the ears. 

Now for the snow-white towel, with Hans Christian s initials 
of blue cross stitch. 

A little dab-dab here, and a little dab-dab there. What was 
left, the warm summer air would dry up gladly. 

Now into the shirt, and now into the short patched pants. 
The short patched pants were buttoned to suspenders. And 






the suspenders were to be pulled over Hans Christian’s shoul¬ 
ders. 

“Pop!” A little trouser button popped off and rolled under 
the blue closet right under the place where a cluster of red 
roses was painted on the door. 

“Ugh!” sighed Hans Christian and crawled after the little 
trouser button. He could not find it. So he fastened two straps 
of the suspenders with one remaining trouser button. 

Then he put on his sandals and stepped into the kitchen. 

“A slice of brown rye bread for you, and a crispy-crunchy 
roll for you,” said Mrs. Clausen, “and a glass of milk.” 

Hans Christian sat down on the scoured bench beside the 
scoured table. 

“And a slice of brown rye bread for me, and a crispy-crunchy 
roll for me,” said Mrs. Clausen, “and a cup of coffee.” 

“Is this jam or is it jelly?” asked Hans Christian. 

“It’s jam and it’s jelly.” Mrs. Clausen laughed, “it’s both.” 

“Hm-m-m,” munched Hans Christian. 

“Is this butter or is it something else?” he asked. 

“It’s Danish butter.” Mrs. Clausen laughed again. “The 
best butter in the world it is, and you know it!” 

“Hm-m-m,” munched Hans Christian, “may I—mm-m— 
have another—mm—roll, please?” 

“Not now. Wait until your father comes for breakfast. This 
was a special treat for you and me.” 


7 


A treat for himself and his mother! Hans Christian straight¬ 
ened up. He felt as proud as a peacock. A special treat! 

“Anything I can do for you, Mother?” 

“Oh!” said Mrs. Clausen. Her eyes wandered about the 
kitchen. And then they did not wander any more. 

“What are you looking at?” asked Hans Christian. 

“I see a row of boots—big boots, little boots, tiny boots and 
—I will shine them,” finished Hans Christian and he took the 
biggest he could see. 

“Oh, what enormous feet has Father!” he exclaimed. His 
left hand and half of his right arm disappeared into the long 
black cave. 

“Swish-swash,” and soon the polishing brush was whirring 
through the air. 


8 












“Swish-swash-wishy-washy,” it landed on the leather. 

Hans Christian began to sing “ABCDEFG — HIJK 
LMNOP — QQRRSST — UVWXYZ. Nowlknow 
my A B C!” 

“So you know your A B C,” a deep voice called and in 
marched Mr. Clausen. 

“Good morning, Father,” said Hans Christian, “your feet 
are enormous, I think.” 

“Ha, ha, ha,” chuckled Mr. Clausen, “haven’t you known 
of it before today?” 

“Rice porridge with sugar and cinnamon is on the table,” 
announced Mrs. Clausen. 

“I’m hungry again,” cried Hans Christian. 

“Me too,” his mother’s high voice rippled. 



“And me too,” his father’s low voice rumbled. 

When breakfast was over, Hans Christian said, “Thanks 
for the meal.” 

“Thanks for the meal,” said his mother. 

“Thanks for the meal,” said his father. 

“May you enjoy it,” they all answered at once. 

Mr. Clausen went into the parlor. He sank into the easy 
chair by the window. Then he unfolded the Copenhagen morn¬ 
ing paper and began to read. 

“Which pipe may I bring you?” asked Hans Christian. 
“The porcelain one?” 

“Well-1-1.” It was a ticklish thing for Mr. Clausen to decide. 
“Of course it isn’t Sunday and I must be off in another hour. 
Still—bring me my holiday pipe!” 

In a minute Hans Christian returned with the silver-mounted 
meerschaum pipe. Mr. Clausen drew his tobacco pouch from 
his trousers pocket. He stuffed the bowl of the silver-mounted 
meerschaum pipe full of tobacco. The bowl was much bigger 
than Hans Christian’s chubby fist. It was almost as big as his 
father’s fist. The stem of the silver-mounted meerschaum pipe 
was very, very long. 

“Puff—puff—puff,” the smoke rose from the ancient pipe. 

“Puff—puff—puff,” it filled the air with blue and grey to¬ 
bacco clouds. 

Hans Christian sat on the low, round hassock. He cupped 
his face in his hands. He watched the curly clouds of smoke. 


10 



“Father,” he asked, “when I am big enough may I smoke a 
meerschaum pipe like this one, or, maybe a porcelain pipe like 
your other one?” 

“Meerschaum or porcelain, my boy, it’s all the same,” re¬ 
plied his father, “smoke either one—or both—when you are 
as old as I am.” 

“It is a long time to wait,” pondered Hans Christian. 

“There! Who’s coming?” Mr. Clausen called suddenly. 
“Your friend Nils Andersen.” 

“Oh-h,” cried Hans Christian. He climbed on his father’s 
knee and looked into the two mirrors that were fastened out¬ 
side the window. The mirrors were set at an angle so that the 


11 









Clausens could watch who was coming almost a block away. 

“He’s bicycling.” Hans Christian was in a hurry now. He 
jumped down from his father’s knee. “Farewell, Father.” 

“Farewell, Hans Christian.” 

The great-great-great-grandfather clock in the hall struck 
half past eight. It was the sign for Mr. Clausen to take his bicy¬ 
cle from the shed. Every morning Mr. Clausen rode on his 
bicycle to the old, old Kronborg Castle, in the old, old town of 
Elsinore. For Mr. Clausen was a gardener in the Kronborg 
Castle Park. 

















THE LITTLE WHITE GOAT 
ING—PING,” rang the shiny new bell on Nils Andersen’s 



shiny new bicycle. Hans Christian ran out to meet his 


friend. 


“ ’Morning, Nils. Want to put your new bike into the shed?” 

“Eh no,” laughed Nils, “I will park it in the back yard.” 

“But Mette is out,” cried Hans Christian, “wait until I go 
ahead and tie her.” 

Mette was Hans Christian’s little white goat. She knew how 
to give milk and Hans Christian knew how to milk her. 

“Ba-a-a,” called Mette and ran with lowered head at the 
boys. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” shouted Hans Christian, “take care of your 
horns, young lady.” 

“Ba-a-a,” called Mette as if to say, “it’s only in fun, only 
in fun.” 

Hans Christian tied Mette to a post outside the fence. 

“Strup, strup, strup! Munch, munch, munch!” Mette was 


13 


very busy. She was pulling and munching juicy green grass. 

“Eh, Hans Christian, I have another flute,” called Nils. 

“Ohhhh! What kind?” Hans Christian clapped his hands. 
“Did you make it yourself?” 

“No. Father did. He made two, one of elderberry stem and 
one of willow. They each have six notches and can play every¬ 
thing, you know.” 

Nils was one summer and two winters older than Hans 
Christian. He lived on a nearby farm with his mother and fa¬ 
ther and with his two small sisters, Inga and Dagny. When¬ 
ever Nils was not busy, he made whistles and flutes from the 
stems of willows or elderberries. Whenever Nils’ father was 
not busy, he, too, made whistles and flutes from the stems of 
willows or elderberries. 

Nils put his hand behind his back. “Which one will you 
have, left or right?” 

“Right!” Hans Christian had drawn the willow flute. 

“It’s yours for keeps,” said Nils, “I keep the other one.” 

“Ohh, thank you, Nils, thank you!” Hans Christian was very 
excited. 

“Too-oot—too-oo-toot,” up the scale he blew his new willow 
flute. Then, “Too-oot—too-oo-toot,” down the scale he blew his 
new willow flute. 

“It sounds fine,” approved Nils. 

“It’s easy,” said Hans Christian. “But I wish that I could 
make a flute myself.” 

“Why don’t you?” 


14 


“I can’t, ’cause my knife is dull.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” grinned Nils. 

“Too-oot—too-oot,” blew Hans Christian. 

“Ba-a-a,” interrupted Mette. 

“Oh,” cried Hans Christian, “it’s time for the milking, and 
I almost forgot.” Quickly he ran into the shed and came back 
with a shiny white pail and a low stool. 

Nils untied the little white goat. “I wonder how Mette will 
behave if she is being made music to! Let’s play her a piece,” 
he proposed eagerly. “What shall I play her?” 

“Play—play Silent Night . Mette does not know it isn’t 
Christmas. I almost wish it were—” 

“Why?” Nils looked surprised. 

“It’s because I am hungry again,” sighed Hans Christian. 
“If it were Christmas, we’d have roast goose with apple and 
prune stuffing for dinner and doughnuts and gingerbread 
men—” 

“And apple cake and cranberries and nuts and rice pudding 
with an almond hidden in it,” finished Nils. By this time he, too, 
was wishing it were Christmas. 


15 



“Ba-a-a.” Mette grew impatient. “Are you going to milk 
me, or are you not?” She brushed her hard tongue over Hans 
Christian’s hand. 

“Too-too-too-too-oo — Si-lent Night ” Nils began play¬ 
ing his flute. 

“Swish, swish, swish, swish,” Mette’s milk swished into the 
shiny white pail. 

“Too-too-too-too-oo — Ho-ly Night ” Nils continued play¬ 
ing his flute. 

Mette listened and listened. Swish, swish, swish, swish. 
More and more and more milk swished into the shiny pail. 

Hans Christian’s eyes grew as large as saucers. Where in 
the world did all the milk come from? 

Swish, swish, swish, swish. More 
and more and more milk swished into 
the shiny pail. And then it did not 
swish any more. 

Mette stopped giving her milk. 

Nils stopped playing his flute, and 
Hans Christian stopped milking his 
goat. 

Into the house he carried the pail. 

“So-o much milk we have,” he shout¬ 
ed, “oh, so much milk! Mette is a 
musical goat. She cannot play, her¬ 
self, but she just loves to listen.” 



16 






HANS CHRISTIAN HAS A SECRET 

U SUALLY Ella and Henry stood behind a large square 
window. They stood there day and night. The large 
square window belonged to a little Art Shop, and the 
little Art Shop belonged to Hans Christian’s mother. 

Right now Ella and Henry were not standing behind any¬ 
thing. They both were lying on a long table in the shop. Ella 
was undressed but Henry was not. The two looked very, very 
stiff, for they were dolls. 

“Hans Chris-ti-an!” called Mrs. Clausen into the living room, 
“Hans Chris-ti-an!” 


17 


















































Skippety-skip, and Hans Christian was there. “Yes, 
Mother?” 

“Bring me a wrung-out cloth and a towel, will you, please? 
We’ll have to wash Ella.” 

“May I bring two cloths and wash Henry?” asked Hans 
Christian. 

“All right. He may need it as badly as Ella.” 

Skippety-skip, and Hans Christian was there again. 

“Mother,” he said, “I do not like Ella half as much as 
Henry.” 

“What’s wrong with Ella now?” Mrs. Clausen put a wide 
black skirt with a green border on the doll, for she was to be 
dressed in a Danish national costume. 

“Ella is only a peasant girl,” Hans Christian said, “but Hen¬ 
ry is a King’s Guard! He has a uniform on, and he wears a 
fine tall fur hat. He looks wonderful.” 

“That’s the way your famous Uncle Henry looked when he 
became a Guard. He, too, wore a uniform and a fine tall fur 
hat.” 

“Oh-h!” cried Hans Christian, “Henry’s eyes are black, 
and his nose is too! My cloth is black from washing him!” 

“Good gracious,” laughed Mrs. Clausen, “he did need a 
scrubbing.. Perhaps his uniform needs a brushing. But be care¬ 
ful, or you’ll brush the buttons off his coat.” 

“Mother, why do you call my Uncle Henry — famous Uncle 
Henry?” 


18 


“He was a very brave man, your famous Uncle Henry.” 

“Where is he now?” 

“He is not living now, bless his soul,” explained Mrs. Clau¬ 
sen. “He died rescuing a family from a burning house.” 

“Is that what he is famous for?” 

“Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Clausen knotted a kerchief of gay cot¬ 
ton print above Ella’s yellow braids. 

“What else was Uncle Henry famous for, Mother?” Hans 
Christian polished and polished the silver buttons of Henry’s 
blue coat. 

“He was famous because he was an inch taller than the tall¬ 
est Guard. And he was famous because he was a wizard at 
making music. He played the flute in the band of the King’s 
Guard. And could he blow a trumpet! And could he beat a 
drum! 

Mrs. Clausen’s eyes twinkled. “He was the merriest flutist 
ever, your famous Uncle Henry!” 

Hans Christian’s eyes did not twinkle, for he was thinking 
hard—“He was the merriest flutist ever, my famous Uncle 
Henry.” And then he spilled his hard thoughts all at once: “But, 
Mother, did my famous Uncle Henry look exactly like this 
Henry here? Did his coat have silver buttons, and did he wear 
white shoulder belts and an enoorrrr-mous fur hat on his head?” 

To Hans Christian’s delight his mother nodded yes. “Your 
famous Uncle Henry looked exactly like this Henry here. His 
coat had silver buttons, and he wore white shoulder belts and 
an enormous fur hat on his head.” 



“Oh-h-h!” cried Hans Christian and his eyes were dancing, 
“oh-h-h! I know a secret, but I won’t tell!” 

“So you know a secret,” laughed Mrs. Clausen. Lightly 
she tied a scarf around Ella’s shoulders. “And now the little 
peasant girl looks spic and span—” 

“And now she may go back into the window,” added Hans 
Christian. 

“With Henry,” finished Mrs. Clausen. “How shall we place 
them in the window, standing up or sitting down?” 

“Standing up.” Hans Christian had no doubt. “The creases 
go out of Henry’s trousers if he has to sit for weeks and weeks.” 

“I never thought of that,” said Mrs. Clausen. “You are right. 
But what about Ella?” 

“Ella must stand too,” decided Hans Christian. And then 


20 




“And we could spread yellow cotton for Ella and Henry ” 
























he had a very bright idea. “Please, please put the little Viking 
ship into the window! Ella and Henry could be ashore and 
watch the ship come in from the sea!” 

“Splendid!” cried Mrs. Clausen. “Let us spread silver tinsel 
under the ship for water.” 

“And we could spread yellow cotton for Ella and Henry, 
so as to make a beach,” shouted Hans Christian, and clapped 
his hands. 

So Mrs. Clausen rushed about, and Hans Christian rushed 
about. 

“Here is the silver tinsel,” said Mrs. Clausen. She strewed 
it in the one corner of her shop window. 

“Here is the little Viking ship,” said Hans Christian. He set 
it on the silver-tinsel sea. * 

“And here is the yellow cotton.” Mrs. Clausen covered the 
floor with it in the other corner of her shop window. 

“Come, Ella,” mumbled Hans Christian and carefully 
tucked her under his left arm. 

“Come, Henry,” he whispered and carefully tucked him un¬ 
der his right arm. 

“Here are Ella and Henry,” he said to his mother. 

So Mrs. Clausen took Ella and stood her on the yellow cot¬ 
ton beach. Then she took Henry and stood him on the yellow 
cotton beach. Lacy doilies and handkerchiefs bordered the 
beach on one side. They were the sandy dunes, no doubt. 

“And now I am going out on the street,” shouted Hans 


22 


Christian excitedly, “and see how the whole thing looks from 
there!” 

Ella and Henry stood close together on the yellow beach. 
Their blue eyes in their rosy faces were turned toward the ship 
out on the silver sea. 

Hans Christian pressed his nose against the window. “Hen¬ 
ry,” he said, “it is a secret, but I’ll tell you. I want to become 
famous like my famous Uncle Henry. I want to be a flutist in 
the King’s Guard!” 













MARKET DAY 


I AM going to buy a pail of honey,” Hans Christian told 
Nils the following Saturday. “What are you going to buy?” 
“Mother wants fish for dinner, herring or flounder or 
something,” answered Nils. 

It was market day, and the two boys were on their way to 
buy honey and fish for their mothers. The market was held at 
the foot of the town, and the foot of the town was by the water 
of the Sound. 

The boys turned into a cobbled side street. Men were 


24 








































sweeping the cobbles clean. The street sweepers wore black 
clothes. Each of them carried a huge broom and an enormous 
watering can. Some of the street sweepers rested their chins on 
their broomstick. Out into the air they gazed. 

“They tarry,” whispered Nils. 

Hans Christian nodded solemnly, and pulled Nils into an¬ 
other cobbled side street. 

In the white house with the low red roof lived the baker. 
A giant golden pretzel hung outside the door. 

In the yellow house with the tiled red roof lived the barber. 
An oval brass basin hung outside the door. 



o 




























In the red house with the high red roof lived the locksmith. 
A huge iron key hung outside the door. 

In the house with the steep red roof lived the shoemaker. 
A big red boot hung outside the door. 

“So here we are!” shouted Hans Christian. He had to shout, 
because everybody else was shouting. The peasant women on 
the market square were shouting, and the peasant men on the 
market square were shouting. Butter! Bacon! Eggs! Cheese! 
Apples! Geese! Roses! Peas! They all were shouting. What 
they were saying was: “Buy me, buy me, buy me. Quickly 
come and buy me!” 

Hans Christian looked at Nils, and Nils looked at Hans 
Christian. 

“Where is the honey? Where is the fish?” their eyes spoke. 

“Please, sir, where do they sell honey?” asked Nils of the 
man who sold fat geese. 

Said the man who sold fat geese, “Pass the apple stand to 
your right and the rose stand to your left. Then walk straight 
ahead until you see a sign board — HONEY FROM THE 
HEATHER-BEE.” 

“Thank you, sir, most kindly,” said Nils. And “Thank you, 
sir, most kindly,” said Hans Christian. 

So the two boys passed by the apples and they passed by 
the roses. They went straight ahead until they saw a neat red 
board with neat white letters across it. “HONEY FROM THE 
HEATHER-BEE,” Nils read aloud. 


26 


Behind the neat red board, under a neat white tent sat the 
honey man. A beehive of brown crockery stood sentry to his 
right. Another beehive of brown crockery stood sentry to his 
left. 

“Good day to you,” said Hans Christian, said Nils, said the 
honey man all at once. 

“I’d like to buy some honey, please,” explained Hans 
Christian. 

“Honey in combs, or honey in a glass, or honey in a pail, 
young man?” 

“A five-pound pail, please,” said Hans Christian, “if it’s 
heather honey.” 

“The purest!” exclaimed the honey man. “Collected by the 
bees in early morning sunshine, from the purple heather.” 

Hans Christian paid the price and took his pail by the 
handle. “Please, sir, where do they sell fish?” he asked of the 
man who had sold him sweet honey. 

Said the man who sold sweet honey, “Walk straight ahead 
and you cannot miss the fish market.” 

“Thank you, sir, most kindly,” said Hans Christian. And 
“Thank you, sir, most kindly,” said Nils. 

So the two boys went straight ahead until they reached the 
place where the fishwives sold their ware. It was right by the 
water. Closed wooden boxes stood in the water along the quay. 
They were filled with live fish. Small holes on the sides and 
bottom kept the water changing in the boxes. 


27 


Many fishwives sat on the quay gossiping. Nils and Hans 
Christian went up to one of the women. A blue checkered 
apron protected her front, a white kerchief protected her head. 

“What kind of fish do you wish, young man?” inquired the 
fishwife. 

“A dozen herrings, please,” said Nils, “if they are fresh.” 

“Fresh!” exclaimed the fishwife. “A fresher fish cannot be 
found. Ha-ha-ha!” 

The fishwife descended a few steps that led from the quay 
down to the water. She lifted the lid of a box. With a net she 
caught a dozen herrings. Now these herrings were swimming 
’round and ’round no more! The fishwife cleaned and scaled 
the fish. Nils paid the price, and he received his package. 

“Nothing else to buy,” said Nils. 

“Nothing else to buy,” said Hans Christian. 

“Clop-clop-clop,” the boys picked their way over the cob¬ 
bles. Home, home, home they went over the cobbles. 








HANS CHRISTIAN KEEPS SHOP 

W HEN Hans Christian had finished his noonday meal 
at last, Mrs. Clausen said to him, “I should like to 
call on Mrs. Hansen who is sick in bed. Will you 
keep shop for me while I am gone?” 

“I’ll try my best,” replied Hans Christian, “and may I look 
at Henry?” 

“You may look at Henry, but remember, see him with 
your eyes and not with your fingers!” 

“I’ll remember.” Hans Christian did not dream of seeing 
Henry with his fingers. 


29 






























“Goodbye, my boy,” said Mrs. Clausen. “I do not think 
that anybody will come in during the noon hour. But if it 
should happen, call Mrs. Olsen from next door. She will help 
you.” 

“Farewell, Mother.” Hans Christian took his stamp album 
from the shelf and marched into the little Art Shop. Behind 
the long table stood a high chair. Hans Christian climbed up 
on it. 

“Hello, Henry,” he waved to the corner of the shop win¬ 
dow. It is true that Henry stared at the little Viking ship out 
on the silver sea. But the longer Hans Christian gazed at the 
King’s Guard, the more kindly Henry seemed to be gazing back 
at him. 

“I am glad you know about my secret,” thought Hans Chris¬ 
tian. He opened his album. 

Hans Christian had collected many fine sets of stamps. But 
the finest of them all was the Castle series. There was a dif¬ 
ferent color and a different castle for each stamp. “What fun,” 
Hans Christian thought, “to have a stamp with Kronborg Castle 
on it, where Father works!” He turned the pages. 

“Trrr-rrr-rr!” 

Hans Christian gave such a jump that his album fell to the 
floor. He almost fell after it. The shop’s bell had rung. 

Into the shop stepped a lady in pink and a lady in blue. They 
were strangers to Hans Christian. 

Said the lady in pink: “Good day to you, little boy. We wish 


to buy a handkerchief or two, with handmade Danish lace. 
Where is your father, little boy?” 

“It isn’t my father’s shop, it is my mother’s. But my moth¬ 
er is out. I will call Mrs. Olsen from next door, if you will 
kindly wait a minute.” 

“Oh, no, dear,” said the lady in blue, “we are in a great 
hurry, because we must catch a train, you know. Perhaps you 
could show us a few of the kerchiefs that are in the window?” 

“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” smiled the lady in pink. 

Hans Christian liked her very much. He smiled back at her. 
Then he climbed into the shop window. Ella and Henry really 
were in the way! Do not see with the fingers, his mother had 
told him. 

Then, “Foo-foong!” And it had happened! Softly Henry 
sank onto the heap of creamy lace doilies and handkerchiefs. 
For some reason Ella kept on her feet. 

“Henry! Oh, Henry!” cried Hans Christian in distress. But 
the lady in pink came to the rescue. “Never mind the King’s 
Guard. We’ll stand him up again. And here is exactly what 
we want.” She selected two handkerchiefs with wide lace bor¬ 
ders and showed them to her friend. 

“Excellent,” nodded the lady in blue, “what do the price 
tags say?” 

“Ten crowns each. I will buy them. Here, little boy, are 
twenty crowns. It’s for two handkerchiefs at ten crowns each. 
Give the bill to your mother, when she comes home. And 



thank you for your help. Farewell!” 

“Farewell—thank you,” Hans Christian cried. 

Hans Christian felt all mixed up. He held more money in 
his hand than he had ever seen together. What to do with it? 
Hide it? Where? In the drawer behind the long table? Yes. 

So Hans Christian went behind the long table to hide his 
treasure, when— 

“Trrr-rr!” He jumped again. That doorbell! 


32 









“Good day to you, Hans Christian. A letter for your 
mother.” 

Before Hans Christian could think, the door had closed 
behind the red coat of the old mail carrier. A letter! Well— 
what to do with it? Hide it? Where? In the drawer behind the 
long table? Yes. 

So Hans Christian went behind the long table to hide his 
treasures, when— 

“Trrr-r!” He jumped for the third time. Oh-h! That doorbell! 

“Hello, I’m back! How did you fare, my boy?” 

Hans Christian gave a deep sigh of relief. His mother had 
returned from her visit. 

“Here is a letter for you, Mother, and here are twenty 
crowns.” 

“Wha-a-a-t?” Mrs. Clausen did not trust her own ears, nor 
own eyes either. 

“But Henry did fall over,” Hans Christian explained, “only 
I could not help it. I did not see him with my fingers, not 
really—” 

“Never mind Henry,” laughed Mrs. Clausen. “You are a 
magician, Hans Christian! You earn more money in an hour 
than I am able to earn in a week.” 

Hans Christian felt happier every minute. Perhaps it was 
fun to be left in a shop by himself. 

“Let’s see what Sailor-uncle Jens has to say.” Mrs. Clausen 


33 


opened the letter that the old mail carrier had delivered dur¬ 
ing her absence. And then she read: 

“I’ll drop anchor in Copenhagen the sec¬ 
ond weekend of next month. If you will ship 
your boy on the fast morning train, the two 
of us will pluck a hen together. His aunt and 
I would like to see Hans Christian.” 


Your brother, 


Jens. 


“Mother!” Hans Christian’s heart beat pong-pong-pong. 

“MOTHER!” he cried again, a whole exclamation mark and 
half a question mark in his voice. 

“To Copenhagen you shall go,” cried Mrs. Clausen, “to 
Copenhagen you shall go. We will make the trip your birthday 
present. Think of it, Hans Christian. For an hour you will 
travel on a train to the capital, all by yourself!” 

Hans Christian danced and danced around in the little shop. 


So glad was he. 




















N ILS, NILS,” shouted Hans Christian excitedly late one 
afternoon, as he ran down the street to meet his friend. 
“Nils, I am going to Copenhagen!” 

“Today?” 

“No. Next month.” 

“Oh,” said Nils, “how long?” 

“For a weekend, to see my Sailor-uncle Jens. He is a sailor, 
and he has invited me. He has invited me because he wants to 
pluck a hen with me.” 

“He wants what?” asked Nils, the farmer’s lad. 

“He wants to pluck a hen with me.” Hans Christian felt 
very old and very wise. “Mother says he means that we’ll have 
fun together, in Copenhagen.” 

“Oh!” said Nils. He understood. 


35 



























“Now I am going to Kronborg Castle to meet Father. Will 
you walk with me?” said Hans Christian. 

“Gladly,” replied Nils, “let’s go.” 

The boys ran out into the street. Hans Christian took his 
willow flute, “Too-oo-too-toot.” 

“Is your willow flute traveling to Copenhagen too?” asked 
Nils. 

“Of course it is. I am going to play for my Sailor-uncle 
Jens. But I wish that I had your name!” 

“What name?” Nils was puzzled again. 

“Your last name. Then my name would be Hans Christian 
Andersen. Then part of me would be famous. Then the rest 
would be easy. Hans Christian Andersen was famous, you 
know.” The little boy grew more and more excited. He 
thought of his secret and that he must tell! So he told Nils 
exactly what he had told Henry in the shop window. 

“It is a secret, but I’ll tell you: I want to become famous 
like my famous Uncle Henry. I want to be a flutist in the King s 
Guard.” 

“Goodness gracious, what a muddle!” exclaimed Nils. 

“You see,” Hans Christian explained, “my Uncle Henry 
was famous. He was a King’s Guard, and he was the merriest 
flutist ever. I want to be exactly like my famous Uncle Henry.” 

“I see,” said Nils, “good luck to you.” 

“Thank you,” said Hans Christian solemnly. He was proud 
of having a friend who wished him good luck. 


36 


The sun came slanting through the treetops. Their shadows 
were so long that they filled the whole road along the Sound. 
And over there on the other side of the Sound, lay the country 
of Sweden. 

Gaily the two boys entered the Park of Kronborg Castle. 

“If there only were a bridge here across the Sound,” said 
Nils, “it would not take me more than five minutes to be in 
Sweden.” 

“Then we could play in another country every day,” added 
Hans Christian. “Hey,” he shouted suddenly, for he had spied 
his father, “let’s race.” 

“Let’s.” 

Out of breath the boys soon halted in front of Mr. Clausen. 

“Well, well,” cried Mr. Clausen surprised, “two young men 
to accompany the old father home! But how about my bicycle? 
Shall I leave it in the parking stand until tomorrow?” 

“I will push it for you,” offered Nils. 

“I will push it for you,” offered Hans Christian. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” laughed Mr. Clausen, “thank you, boys. Now, 
how about leaving it here after all? We might take a stroll 
through the Park, the three of us?” 

“Oh, yes, please, please!” 

Mr. Clausen washed his hands under the pump by the tool 
shed. For a gardener’s hands are black at times. Then he 
smoothed his clothes. For a gardener’s clothes are crumpled 
at times. 


37 



“And now for the stroll through the Park before it is dark,” 
he said. “No more midsummer nights for us this year.” 

Old and stony the old Kronborg Castle towered by the 
Sound. 

“When did Kronborg Castle belong to Hamlet, prince of 
Denmark?” Nils asked at this moment. 

“Oh-h!” Hans Christian knew that! “It still belongs to him! 
His ghost is up and around every, every night. He walks right 
here where we are walking, and in the Castle, too. Doesn’t he, 
Father?” 

“Well, well,” laughed Mr. Clausen, “you do seem fond of 


38 












“He walks right here where we are walking ” 
































ghosts! But it’s a legend, boys, a legend. Nobody knows when 
Hamlet lived. There are many legends told of Kronborg 
Castle.” 

“I do not care for legends,” said Nils. 

“I do, I do!” cried Hans Christian. 

“I see a little wagon on wheels,” twinkled Mr. Clausen, 
“and I know what’s in it.” 

“Rumble, rumble, rumble.” Nearer and nearer rumbled 
the little wagon on wheels. 

“Ping, ping, ping, ping.” Nearer and nearer sounded the 
tiny bell of the wagon on wheels. 

No more rumbling of wheels, no more pingling of bells, for 
the wagon had stopped. 

“One, two, three jumbo size Frostbites, please,” said Mr. 
Clausen. 

“Thank you,” beamed Nils and took a small bite. 

“Thank you,” beamed Hans Christian and took a smaller 
bite. 

“Very good ice cream,” chuckled Mr. Clausen and took a 
big bite. 



THE PARADE OF THE KING’S GUARD 

O N a bright and sunny September morning Hans Chris¬ 
tian sat in the third class compartment of the train to 
Copenhagen. 

“In another five minutes we are there,” said the kind old 
lady in the corner. “I hope you meet your uncle all right, lit¬ 
tle boy.” 

“Thank you. I hope so, too,” replied Hans Christian seri¬ 
ously. He smoothed the creases of his short blue sailor-suit 
pants. He smoothed the ribbon of his new blue sailor-suit cap. 
“Viking” read the golden letters across the sailor-ribbon. Bold 
as a Viking Hans Christian felt indeed. He tightened the grip 
around his traveling satchel. The satchel was made of tan can¬ 
vas. Football players and balls were cross-stitched on it. 


41 














Hans Christian was ready to meet his Sailor-uncle Jens! 

“Copenhagen! Copenhagen!” called the conductor. The 
train had stopped. Hans Christian climbed out of the train and 
stood on the platform. 

“Bzzz-zzz.” Oh, so many people buzzed around him! 

“Bzz-zz,” and a sailor-suit man shook hands with a sailor- 
suit boy. 

“Well, well! and here we have Hans Christian in person!” 

“What would have happened if you hadn’t found me, Uncle 
Jens?” 

“They would have shipped you straight back to Elsinore,” 
teased Sailor-uncle Jens. 


42 








■t 



“Oh, no!” replied Hans Christian, and he meant it. 

“Are you hungry?” It was a very welcome question. 
“Ye-e-e-e-s,” answered Hans Christian, “I know, because 
there’s a sort of rumbling in my stomach.” 

“Rumbling in your stomach!” exclaimed the Sailor-uncle 


43 









Jens. “By land and sea, I know what that stands for! Let’s hur¬ 
ry home.” 

So Hans Christian and his Sailor-uncle Jens walked a few 
blocks, until they came to Crocodile Street. They picked their 
way over the cobbles. 

“This is the one,” said Sailor-uncle Jens. He pointed to a 
little yellow sailor-house. The roof was red, and the shutters 
were green. He knocked at the door of the little yellow sailor- 
house. A rosy-cheeked lady opened the door. It was the Sailor- 
uncle’s wife. And her name was Anna-Marie. 

“Come in, come in,” cried Anna-Marie joyfully. 

“Hello, hello,” said Sailor-uncle Jens. 

“How do you do, dear aunt,” said Hans Christian. 

“Welcome home, my boys,” cried Anna-Marie, “you must 
be hungry, I should think! Come in, if you please.” 

Hans Christian ate and ate. First he ate ryebread soup with 
cream and sugar. Then he ate fried herrings without cream 
and sugar. And then he ate red currant pudding with cream 
and sugar. 

The Sailor-uncle and his wife were pleased indeed to watch 
Hans Christian’s fine appetite. “And here are cookies for the 
boy,” they chuckled. 

So Hans Christian had round and square and long and short 
cookies. He ate a star and a crescent and a heart and a tiny 
pretzel. 

“And now we must be off,” said Sailor-Uncle Jens, “that I 


44 


may show the town to our visitor! Farewell, Anna-Marie.” 

“Farewell, dear aunt,” cried Hans Christian, as he took his 
Sailor-uncle’s hand. The two walked to the King’s Palace. 

“Bim—bam—him—bam 
Bim—bam—bim—bam 
Bim—bam—bim—bam” 

Twelve o’clock—the bell struck from the Town Hall. 
Twelve o’clock—the bells struck from the church towers. 

Hans Christian stood rooted to a spot in the large Palace 
Square. He held his uncle’s hand. And what he saw was—oh, 
it was not the Parade of the Tin Soldiers,—and it was not the 
Parade of the Wooden Soldiers. But it was the Parade of the 
King’s own Guard! 

“Henry!” thought Hans Christian, “oh, Henry! The Guards¬ 
men look exactly like you. Their coats have silver buttons. They 
wear white shoulder belts. They wear enorrr-mous fur hats on 
their heads. My famous Uncle Henry—” 

“One-two, one-two,” a Guard was marching. He carried a 
flag that reached into the sky—almost! 

“One-two, one-two,” another Guard was marching. He car¬ 
ried no flag, but he himself reached into the sky—almost! So 
tall was he! 

“One-two, one-two,” another Guard was marching, and an¬ 
other, and another. All the King’s Guard was marching, and the 
Guard’s band was playing. 

“Ta-ta-ta-taaaa!” 



Hans Christian held his uncle’s hand. He was thinking of 
his secret, and he thought that he must tell. So he squeezed 
his Sailor-uncle’s hand. It gave him courage. 


46 



















“Uncle Jens,” he said, “Uncle Jens, you know what? It is 
a secret, but I’ll tell you. I want to become like my famous 
Uncle Henry. I want to be a flutist in the King’s Guard.” 

“You don’t mean to say!” cried Sailor-uncle Jens. Was he 
surprised! “Who in the world has talked to you of famous 
Uncle Henry?” 

“My mother,” replied Hans Christian. 

“You don’t mean to say! Yes, yes, he was the merriest flut¬ 
ist ever, your famous Uncle Henry.” The Sailor-uncle kept 
nodding and nodding his head. “Hm-hm. A fine plan, a great 
plan. Good luck to you, young man.” 

“Thank you,” said Hans Christian solemnly. He was proud 
of having a Sailor-uncle who wished him good luck. 

“But now we must go on and see something else.” Sailor- 
uncle Jens hailed a taxi. He spoke to the driver, “Royal Porce¬ 
lain, please.” 

“Bang,” the door of the taxi shut. On through the streets of 
Copenhagen the taxi sped. 

After what had seemed to be a long while to the Sailor-uncle, 
and after what had seemed to be a short while to Hans Christian, 
the taxi stopped. 

Hans Christian and his uncle entered a large building. The 
building was the Royal Porcelain Manufactory. 

A man with brass buttons rushed forward. 

“We wish to see something that we have never seen be¬ 
fore,” stated Sailor-uncle Jens. 


47 


“A little moment, sir.” The man with brass buttons went 
away, and a man without brass buttons appeared. His head 
was very bald, and his face was very pale. 

“He looks like a porcelain man,” thought Hans Christian. 

The three stepped into an elevator. “Buzzz—stop!” 

Hans Christian took a deep breath. It did not feel so very 
good to stop in an elevator! 

“To your right, if you please,” motioned the porcelain man. 

“Here the molds and patterns are kept,” he explained. “All 
patterns are made by hand. Some pieces of porcelain have over 
a thousand different molds. Each set must be kept in a differ¬ 
ent place. And the very difficult — most difficult — molds are 
those for teacup-handles—” 

“Oh! please excuse me, sir,” interrupted Hans Christian, 
“if I may talk right now, may I?” 

“Indeed you may ask a question,” smiled the porcelain man. 

“It isn’t exactly a question,” Hans Christian burst out, “but 
I would like to buy a teacup with a difficult handle for my moth¬ 
er. I have an extra crown to spend.” 

The porcelain man looked sad. “I fear—” 

“Never fear,” fell in the Sailor-uncle hurriedly, “we’ll buy 
a teacup with a very difficult handle for Mother.” 

The porcelain man bowed and said nothing. He opened the 
door into a bright and airy room. 

“Ah-h-h,” cried Hans Christian, “so many flowers and 
palms! Is it a greenhouse?” 

“Humph—no, not really. It is the artists’ work room.” 


48 


The porcelain man lowered his voice to a whisper. “Pictures 
and works of art are put on the tables. No one can paint beau¬ 
tiful things in an ugly place, and our artists may come and go 
as they choose—” 

Hans Christian suddenly yawned. “Ouch,” he mumbled and 
yawned again. “Excuse me,” he said and yawned again. 

“Time for us to go,” said Sailor-uncle Jens, “and thank 
you for your kindness.” 

The porcelain man disappeared. He returned with a small 
package. “A teacup for you,” he smiled to Hans Christian. 

“But has it—has it a difficult handle?” 

“A very difficult handle,” nodded the porcelain man. 

Hans Christian paid his extra crown to Sailor-uncle Jens, and 
Sailor-uncle Jens paid it to somebody else. 

Down they rode in the elevator. “Buzz — stop — jerk 
— STOP!” 

Hans Christian took a deep breath. No, it did not feel so 
very good to stop in an elevator! 

Then Hans Christian took another deep, deep breath. It did 










THE ROUND TOWER 



T HIS is the question now,” said Sailor-uncle Jens, “shall 
we climb the Round Tower, or shall we go home?” He 
looked at Hans Christian. “What about it? Perhaps you 
would fall asleep before we reach the top?” 

“Oh, no,” Hans Christian hastened to reply, “I am as wide 
awake as can be. Please, I would like to climb the Round 
Tower! How many steps has it?” 

“It has no steps at all,” answered Sailor-uncle Jens. “That’s 
the remarkable part of this tower. It’s more like climbing a 
mountain. A mountain hasn’t any steps either, you know. Yet 
you must walk up and up, if you want to reach the top.” 

Hans Christian was quite excited by this time. “Please,” 
he begged, “let’s climb the Round Tower!” 

So Sailor-uncle Jens and Hans Christian boarded a street 
car. It was a long ride back into the city. 

“Here we are,” said Sailor-uncle Jens at last. The street 
car stopped. Hans Christian was glad to stretch his legs again. 
After a walk of a few minutes he saw the Round Tower. Hans 
Christian glanced curiously at the plump old stone building. 
“Strange it looks,” was his conclusion. 


50 


After a walk of a few minutes he saw 
the Round Tower 






























































































“Wait, until you are inside of it,” said Sailor-uncle Jens. 

Up, up, up, climbed Hans Christian. 

Up, up, up, climbed Sailor-uncle Jens. 

Inside of the Round Tower they climbed — ’round and 
’round and ’round, up and up and up! 

“This is the funniest tower I ever climbed up in,” panted 
Hans Christian. “Who has made this tower without steps for 
a stairway?” 

“A Danish King built the Round Tower hundreds of years 
ago,” Sailor-uncle Jens told the boy. “He built it for a famous 
man who studied the stars. A Russian tsar once drove up this 
spiral ramp, away to the top—horses, buggy and all. But how 
the horses turned about and got down again, I am sure I don’t 
know!” 

“I don’t either,” panted Hans Christian. "Round and ’round 
and ’round he climbed, up and up and up. “But maybe, one 
could turn about and get down again with a bicycle?” 

“Oh, yes, one could ride up and down on a bicycle. The 
boys may do it at times. It gives them exercise a-plenty. But 
I don’t envy them their tired legs afterwards!” 

“I don’t either,” panted Hans Christian. ’Round and ’round 
and ’round he climbed, up and up and up. And suddenly 
climbing up could be done no further. For the top of the Round 
Tower had been reached. 

“A hefty breeze up here,” cried Sailor-uncle Jens, “reminds 
me of the sea.” 


52 


“It’s a hundred times more windy up here than in town,” 
cried Hans Christian. 

“Look at the roofs and towers of Copenhagen!” pointed 
Sailor-uncle Jens. “There is the palace with the three golden 
crowns on the tower. And there is the church with the spiral 
staircase around the outside of the tower. See the green and 
gold dome of the Marble Church over there? And near the 
Town Hall towers are the Tivoli Gardens, where we will go 
tomorrow.” 

“Oh! There is the Palace Square where the King’s Guard 
paraded this morning!” shouted Hans Christian excitedly. 

“Right you are,” praised Sailor-uncle Jens. “Look, over 
there is the Sound. And far, far away you see the coast of 
Sweden.” 

“Can I see Elsinore too?” Hans Christian ventured. 

“No. It is a bit too far away for that. But how about it? 
Are you hungry? It’s almost supper time!” 

“Ye-e-e-s,” answered Hans Christian. “I am hungry. Very.” 

“Goodness! Let’s hurry home.” 

Down, down, down they walked, inside of the Round Tower 
—’round and ’round and ’round and down and down and down. 
And suddenly they were not inside of the Round Tower any 
more at all. For they had walked so long, that they had arrived 
outside of the Round Tower. 

They waited at a street corner. They boarded a street car 
and rode to Crocodile Street. They picked their way over the 





cobbles of Crocodile Street. Hans Christian knocked at the 
door of the little yellow sailor-house. 

“Pit-a-pat-pit-a-pat,” he heard his aunt’s quick little steps in 
the house, as she rushed to open the door. 

“And now my sailor-boys have come home from their out¬ 
ing!” she cried. “Did you enjoy yourself, Hans Christian?” 

“My, yes!” Hans Christian burst out. “We have seen ev¬ 
erything, haven’t we, Uncle Jens?” 


54 














They had arrived outside of the Round Tower 












































“Well, well,” laughed Sailor-uncle Jens, “not quite every¬ 
thing, but enough for a day, I should say.” 

“Hm, how good it smells here,” sniffed Hans Christian. 

“I have roasted a chicken for us,” smiled Anna-Marie. 
“Please seat yourselves at the dinner table, and we will eat 
in a minute.” 

So the family sat down to a delicious supper. 

Soon after the meal, his aunt thought it best that Hans 
Christian should go to bed early. 

“Dear me, dear me, dear me,” she chuckled, “the boy has 
had a busy day. He must be very tired. And I am sure you 
won’t be staying home tomorrow!” 

“Oh, no,” cried Hans Christian, “tomorrow we are going to 
the Tivoli Gardens, aren’t we, Uncle Jens?” 

“Indeed we are, my boy.” 

“But now good night to you,” said Anna-Marie. “Your 
Uncle Jens will put you into the cupboard bed, while I wash 
the dishes.” 

“Good night, dear aunt.” 

So Sailor-uncle Jens tucked Hans Christian into the cup¬ 
board bed. A huge, red, checkered feather bed lay under him. 
A huge, green, checkered feather bed covered him. 

“Good night, my boy. Sweet dreams.” 

But Hans Christian was sound asleep by this time. He could 
not even say “Thanks, the same to you.” 


56 


AN ADVENTURE 


E ARLY the next morning Hans Christian awoke in his 
cupboard bed. He had been dreaming of his goat Mette 
and of his willow flute. “What if I get up and dress and 
blow a piece?” he said to himself. 

“Pat-pat-pat-pat,” out of the cupboard bed he climbed. He 
washed himself and he dressed himself. Then he stuck his left 
hand into his left trousers pocket, and he stuck his right hand 
into his right trousers pocket. “Where is my willow flute?” 
Hans Christian was thinking, “where is my flute? It isn’t in 
my left pocket. It isn’t in my right pocket. It is ’way down in 
my satchel, of course. 

“But where is my satchel with the football players and foot¬ 
balls on it?” Hans Christian was thinking now. “It isn’t in the 
cupboard bed. It isn’t on the wash stand. It is—it’s by the 
hearth in the kitchen, of course.” 

So Hans Christian marched into the kitchen. 


57 

















“Cling-bang-bung!” the coal shovel fell out of Anna-Marie’s 
hand. 

“Upon my soul!” she cried, “You up with the chickens, and 
I haven’t laid my fire yet.” 

“Good morning, dear aunt,” Hans Christian said, “I did 
not mean to frighten you. It is my satchel I am after.” 

“All right, my boy, all right. Here is your satchel.” 

Hans Christian found his willow flute. Away down in his 
satchel he found it. “May I please blow you a piece right now? 
I can blow, and you can lay the fire!” 

“Blow me a piece? What’s this you say, my boy?” Anna- 
Marie thought she had not heard right. 

“Oh!” cried Hans Christian. “Don’t you know, dear aunt, 
that I want to become famous like my famous Uncle Henry? 
But I suppose you don’t know, because it is a secret. I want 
to be a flutist in the King’s Guard.” 

Anna-Marie shook and shook her head. She smoothed and 
smoothed her apron. “So high up,” she murmured, “so high 
up! But here is wishing you good luck, my boy.” 

“Thank you,” said Hans Christian. He was pleased that 
his Aunt Anna-Marie was wishing him good luck. “May I now 
blow you a piece, please?” 

“Indeed, my boy, indeed.” 

“Too-oo-toot-too-oo toot — ” Hans Christian played on his 
willow flute. By the end of the first verse of his song, the door 
opened softly. Sailor-uncle Jens tiptoed into the kitchen. He 


58 



“Too-oo-toot-too-oo-toot —” Hans Christian 
played on his willow flute 







































carried his big black boots in his hands, and he stood very still 
—pressed against the wall. His eyes were round and wide open, 
and so was his mouth! 

Hans Christian looked at him and burst out laughing. 

“I’ll teach you with my boots to laugh at me,” cried Sailor- 
uncle Jens. He swung his boots this way and that and laughed 
aloud. 

“Upon my word,” sighed Anna-Marie, “’twas a fine old 
song.” 

“And fine he played it, too,” added Sailor-uncle Jens. 

“But now I am making coffee,” said Anna-Marie. 

“Where are the rolls?” asked Sailor-uncle Jens. 

“Where are they?” said Anna-Marie and looked blank. 

“Haven’t we bought any?” asked Sailor-uncle Jens. 

“We haven’t bought any!” cried Anna-Marie and looked 
very, very blank. “Please, Hans Christian, will you run around 
the corner and buy us rolls for our morning coffee?” 

“With pleasure,” replied Hans Christian, “where lives the 
baker?” 

“Half a dozen rolls, and here is the money. Pass two 
houses to the right, turn around the corner, walk seven houses 
further, and you are there.” 

Hans Christian frowned. “Two houses to the right—around 
the corner—seven houses further, and you are there. I have' 
it!” he shouted, grabbed his willow flute and was off. 

Two houses to the right. He played a tune, “Toot-toot!” 


60 


Around the corner, “Too-ooo!” Seven houses further, “Too- 
too-too-too-too-too-too-ooo-oo!” 

And there a giant pretzel hung outside the door. It was the 
baker’s shop. “Tooo-hooo, tooo-hooo!” High and low Hans 
Christian’s notes were bouncing, high and low. 

But what was that? A rider on horseback! The rider wore 
a military cloak. He looked at Hans Christian and he smiled. 
Hans Christian smiled back at him. The rider stooped to talk. 
He had to stoop very low, for he was very tall. 

“I have been listening to you, little boy. You are quite a 
musician.” His voice sounded low and friendly. 

“N-no,” Hans Christian explained, “but maybe, when I am 
grown-up.” 

The rider nodded and Hans Christian continued, “It is a 
secret, but I want to become famous like my famous Uncle 
Henry. I want to be a flutist in the King’s Guard.” 

The stranger’s eyes twinkled. “What is your name, little 
boy?” 

“My name is Hans Christian Clausen. But I do not live in 
Copenhagen, I live in Elsinore. I am here on my birthday trip.” 

“So it is your birthday today?” asked the rider. 

“No, it isn’t. It is the Sunday after next Sunday.” 

“Think of it!” said the stranger. “So is mine. Here are two 
shining crowns for your birthday, little boy, one to keep and 
one to spend. And remember: I want you for my Guard. Fare¬ 
well—” 


61 


A minute later, the rider on horseback was just a tiny dot 
far down the street. Hans Christian gazed after him. And then 
he shouted: “It was the King! Of course, of course, it was the 
King!” He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. 

Out of breath Hans Christian reached the little yellow sailor- 
house. And he never caught his breath again until he had told 
his adventure, until he had safely hidden his two crowns, until 
he remembered—that he had forgotten to buy the rolls! 



























THE TIVOLI GARDENS 


O -0-0-0-CH,” cried Hans Christian, “o-o-o-ch! Hold my 
hand tight, Uncle Jens, please hold it very tight.” 
Hans Christian and Sailor-uncle Jens sat together 
in a roller coaster. Whee-e! Through the air they sailed. Down 
into a pitchblack cave they dived. Up into the sunny sky they 
soared. Humpety-bumpety up the mountain, down the moun¬ 
tain. Up and down and down and up the coaster rolled as fast 
as fast can be. 

Hans Christian hardly knew how he came off the roller 
coaster. He blinked his eyes in the strong sunshine. 


63 





“ ’Twas rather rough sailing in there, wasn’t it?” said Sailor- 
uncle Jens. 

“I liked it fine,” said Hans Christian, “because you held my 
hand very tight. But I like it better out of it!” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” roared Sailor-uncle Jens. “But what next? For 
a King’s crown to spend, you can do much more. I will take 
good care of it for you, believe me! How about some aniseed 
candy, for a change?” 

“Hm-m-m,” grinned Hans Christian. 

Under a huge red and white tent shaped like a mushroom 
sat a tiny lady. And she sold nothing but aniseed candy on 
sticks. 

“How much are they?” asked Sailor-uncle Jens. 

“A penny the stick,” peeped the tiny lady. 

“With or without the candy?” rumbled Sailor-uncle Jens in 
a very low voice. 

“With,” peeped the tiny lady in a very high voice. 

“Five sticks, please, with,” rumbled Sailor-uncle Jens in a 
still lower voice. 

“A pleasure,” peeped the tiny lady in a still higher voice. 

“Two for you, my boy,” explained the Sailor-uncle, “one 
for your mother, one for your father and one for Anna-Marie.” 

Right here and then Hans Christian decided to eat only one 
of his aniseed candy-sticks. He decided to take the other one 
home to his friend Nils. 

“But what next?” murmured Sailor-uncle Jens. “How about 
a ride on the merry-go-round for a change?” 



“Oh, yes, please,” grinned Hans Christian. 

So Sailor-uncle Jens and Hans Christian walked over to the 
place where the merry-go-round was. They climbed up into one 
of the boats. 

“Dong—dong,” sounded a bell. Slowly the merry-go-round 
started to move. Faster and faster it went. 

“O-o-o-ch,” cried Hans Christian, “it goes faster than the 
wind, o-o-o-ch!” 

But just at the moment when he thought that he was flying 
through the air, the merry-go-round slowed down, and then it 
stopped altogether. Hans Christian and Sailor-uncle Jens 
climbed out. 


65 










Hans Christian looked at the trees, and they seemed to be 
dancing. He looked at the houses, and they began to dance. 
He looked back at the boats for two, and they began to dance. 

“ ’Twas rather rough sailing in there, wasn’t it?” said Sailor- 
uncle Jens. 

“I liked it fine,” said Hans Christian, “but I like it better 
out of it!” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” roared Sailor-uncle Jens. “But what next? 
How about a cookie heart with almonds in it and rose-sugar 
on it?” 

“Hm-m-m,” grinned Hans Christian. 

In a giant heart-house, behind a giant heart-window sat a 
boy and a girl. These two did nothing but sell cookie hearts 
with almonds in them and rose-sugar on them. They sold very 
large and very small and medium-sized hearts. 

“One, two, three, four, five medium-sized cookie hearts with 
almonds in them and rose-sugar on them, if you please,” said 
Sailor-uncle Jens. 

“One for you, my boy,” explained the Sailor-uncle, “one 
for your mother, one for your father, one for Anna-Marie and 
one for myself.” 

Right here and then Hans Christian decided to eat only 
half of his heart. He decided to take the other half home to his 
friend Nils. 

“But what next?” murmured Sailor-uncle Jens. “How about 
a peep at ourselves in the Hall of Mirrors, for a change?” 


66 


“Oh, please, please,” grinned Hans Christian. 

It was so noisy in the Hall of Mirrors, that Hans Christian 
thought at first, he had entered the Zoological Gardens by mis¬ 
take. 

“Hahahahahaha! Hahahahahaha!” Men laughed and women 
laughed and children laughed. 

“My goodness,” laughed Hans Christian, “look at yourself, 
Uncle Jens, you are as thin and as long as a beanstalk, haha- 
haha!” 

“Mercy on us,” laughed Sailor-uncle Jens, “look at your¬ 
self, Hans Christian, you are as round and as fluffy as a woolly 
ball of yarn. Hahahaha!” 

A tear of merriment trickled down Hans Christian’s cheek. 
Another tear of merriment trickled down the Sailor-uncle’s 
cheek. “Oh, this is funny,” he panted, “this is funny! But now 
we must go, hahahaha!” 

Hans Christian hung back. He would have liked to stay until 
tomorrow morning! Inwardly he squirmed with all his might. 
But outwardly he let his Sailor-uncle drag —drag — drag him 
from the Hall of Mirrors. 

And this was the end of Hans Christian’s Sunday at the 
Tivoli Gardens of Copenhagen. 







A FOLK DANCE FESTIVAL 

O N Monday Hans Christian returned to Elsinore, for Elsi¬ 
nore was, after all, his home. 

On Tuesday his every other sentence began with 
“When I was in Copenhagen—” 

On Wednesday his mother sewed and sewed. She sewed on 
Thursday, and she sewed on Friday, and she sewed on Satur¬ 
day. But when Sunday came her work was finished. 

“Here is your pretty white blouse!” she called and held it 
up for Hans Christian. “Here is your pretty velvet vest, and 
here are your velvet pants.” 

“Oh! Ohh!” cried Hans Christian and clapped his hands. 
“My blouse is stitched with red and green and blue and gold— 
and my vest has silver buttons! I can hardly wait until the dance 
begins.” 


68 



















Children sang tralalala, and children played tralalala, 
and children danced tralalala 














“It won’t be long,” laughed Mrs. Clausen, “a few short 
hours, and then—” 

“A few short hours is very, very long,” Hans Christian 
sighed. 

But at last the time arrived for Hans Christian to dress in 
his pretty white blouse, in his pretty velvet vest and in his vel¬ 
vet pants, and red stockings. 

Hans Christian looked down on himself. He wore his cos¬ 
tume gladly, for he was going to a dance! 

He was going to the Folk Dance Festival at Kronborg Castle 
Park. Half the town went where Hans Christian went. Half the 
town of Elsinore gathered on the lawn in Kronborg Castle Park. 

Children sang tralalala, and children played tralalala, and 
children danced tralalala. They danced the Dance of Greet¬ 
ing , and they danced the Crested Hen. They danced the 
Little Man in a Fix , and they danced the Four Corners 

Little boys danced Seven Jumps. 

“Oh, I can do that!” Hans Christian jumped for joy. 

And there was Nils. “Oh, I can do it too,” he cried. 

Hans Christian and Nils swung each other around, and 
when they were quite dizzy, they stopped and stamped their 
feet. They swung and swung each other around. 

Sometimes their left knee touched the ground, sometimes 
their right knee touched the ground. 

Sometimes their left elbow touched the ground, sometimes 
their right elbow touched the ground. 


Sometimes they stamped their right foot, and sometimes 
they stamped their left foot. 

And at last Nils tried to turn a somersault right over the 
back of Hans Christian. 

“Don’t kick me,” laughed Hans Christian. 

“I will,” laughed Nils, but he didn’t do it! 

And that was the end of the Seven Jumps Dance . 

There was a pause. Hans Christian drew his willow flute 
from his pocket. 

“Too-too-too-toot,” he ventured. 

So happy was he that he forgot to stop! Hans Christian 
played and played this tune: 



Little girls turned, and they began dancing after the willow 
flute. Little boys turned, and they began dancing too. All the 
little girls and all the little boys were dancing because of Hans 
Christian’s tune. And the tune was the Shoemakers’ Dance . 

They clenched their fists and moved them inward and out¬ 
ward and upward. Yes, they were winding the thread! 

They clenched their fists and moved them outward, upward 
and inward. They jerked their elbows and they jerked them 
again. For they were pulling the thread! 

And when the left fist struck the right fist three times, all 
the boys and all the girls were driving the pegs! 


















And when they had driven the pegs, they danced and danced 
around—tralalala—tralalala! 

And that was the end of the Shoemakers’ Dance. 

“Too-too-too-toot!” Hans Christian stopped playing. A 
heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Hans Christian looked up into 
a kindly, bearded face. And the kindly, bearded face belonged 
to the great old Music-Master of the folk dancers. 

“My boy,” said he, “so well you did, so well, that I will train 
you. I will train you to become the greatest flutist ever!” 

“Oh,” whispered Hans Christian, “ohh!” So happy was he 
that he forgot to shout with joy. 

“But tell me, lad, have you been playing often on your wil¬ 
low flute?” 

Hans Christian regained his courage. “Nils gave this flute 
to me in the early summer. First I played on it for my goat 
Mette. And when I was in Copenhagen, I played on it for the 
King” 


72 




“You don’t mean to say,” exclaimed the Music-Master, 
“for Mette you played and for His Majesty the King you 
played!” 

Hans Christian’s courage grew. “The King has given me a 
crown. And—it really is a secret, but I will tell you. I want to 
become famous like my famous Uncle Henry. I want to be a 
flutist in the King’s Guard.” 

The great old Music-Master’s eyes twinkled. “A crown you 
say! A flutist you say! Well, well. Come now with me and meet 
my friends.” 

“May I present to you Hans Christian Clausen—my young- * 
est pupil.” 

“Three cheers for the budding musician. Hurrah, hurrah, 
hurrah for him!” the Music-Master’s friends were shouting. 


Hans Christian felt very proud and very bashful of a sudden. 
He grinned from ear to ear. “Oh,” he thought, “maybe—maybe 
this is how it feels to be famous?” 





VISITORS 


O N the following day at three o’clock the doorbell rang 
“Pr-rr.” And who should march into Hans Christian’s 
house but the Mayor of Elsinore! 

“A-hem,” said the Mayor of Elsinore to Mrs. Clausen. 
“Good day to you, good day, dear lady. A-hem, I beg your 
pardon if I am intruding—” 

“Oh, not whatever, not whatever, but come into the parlor, 
please,” invited Mrs. Clausen. 

“My most respectful thanks,” bowed the Mayor of Elsinore. 
Mrs. Clausen hurried to dust a very clean chair with her 
newly starched and ironed apron. The Mayor took the seat. 

“I had the news!” he said. “And I am anxious, my dear 
lady, to congratulate your little boy.” 

“Oh,” rejoiced Mrs. Clausen and smoothed her apron. 
“Hans Christian is in the yard, playing his flute. I shall call 
him in, and in the meantime I’ll prepare a cup of coffee.” 
“Much obliged,” bowed the Mayor of Elsinore. 

In rushed Hans Christian, and up stood the Mayor. “Hap¬ 
py I am to meet my friend the Music-Master’s youngest pupil! 
Shake hands with an old man.” 

Hans Christian shook hands with the Mayor of Elsinore. 
The two shook hands until it hurt. 

“It is a secret,” announced Hans Christian, “but I want to 
become famous like my famous Uncle Henry. I want to be a 
flutist in the King’s Guard.” 


74 


“Magnificent!” exclaimed the Mayor, “a worthy aim.” 

“Want to see my money?” asked Hans Christian. “Here 
it is. I keep it tied in my handkerchief, or I’ll lose it, you know. 
The King has given it to me, I mean the crown.” 

“I dare say you are a fortunate fellow.” The Mayor stared 
at the crown as if he had never seen a crown before. 

“Coffee is served, if you please,” called Mrs. Clausen. 

The Mayor sipped steaming hot coffee. 

At four o’clock the doorbell rang “Prr-rr-r,” and who should 
stride in but Parson Jensen. 

“Bless your heart,” said the parson to Mrs. Clausen. “I had 
the news! And I hope the boy keeps humble under the burden 
of his honor?” 

“Oh,” rejoiced Mrs. Clausen, “never you fear for Hans 
Christian, never you fear! But here he comes himself.” 

Hans Christian shook hands with the parson. The two 
shook hands until it almost hurt. 

“It is a secret,” Hans Christian announced, “but I want to 
become famous like my famous Uncle Henry. I want to be a 
flutist—” 

“Responsibility is a difficult thing, my child,” cried the par¬ 
son. 

“But I want only to become famous,” ventured Hans Chris¬ 
tian uneasily, “I did not mean res— ’ 

“You cannot be famous without having responsibility, my 
child.” The kindly parson shook his head in dismay. 


Then the boy said in his brightest voice, “Please may I 
show you my crown? The King has given it to me.” 

“My sincere wishes for your future.” The parson stared at 
the coin as if he had never seen a crown before. 

“Coffee is served, if you please,” interrupted Mrs. Clausen. 

Parson Jensen sipped steaming hot coffee. 

At five o’clock the doorbell rang, “Prrrrrrrrrrrr,” and who 
should enter but three little boys and four little girls. 

Hans Christian’s friend Nils came and brought two of his 
boy friends. Nils’ sister Inga came and brought one of her girl 
friends. Nils’ sister Dagny came and brought one of her girl 
friends. 

“Want to see my crown?” Hans Christian beamed, “My 
crown is in the parlor. Please come in. I know how you may 
get a crown like mine,” Hans Christian continued excitedly, 
“just travel to Copenhagen and meet the King!” 

“Come in, the seven of you,” called Mrs. Clausen, “Hans 
Christian is treating you to apple fritters and coffee-milk.” 

And as the children stepped into the dining room, their eyes 
beheld two most important persons: the Mayor of Elsinore sip¬ 
ping steaming hot coffee, and Parson Jensen sipping steaming 
hot coffee. 

So the little boys made a bow, “How do you do, Mr. Mayor. 
How do you do, Parson Jensen.” 

And the little girls made a curtsey, “How do you do, Mr. 
Mayor. “How do you do, Parson Jensen.” 


76 



HANS CHRISTIAN’S BIRTHDAY 

F LAGS were swaying in the autumn breeze, from every 
house, from every tower. Today was the King’s birthday! 
Hans Christian’s mother took out of his closet a new 
sailor-suit with long pants. Today was Hans Christian’s birth¬ 
day! 

“Please, Mother, please, may I try it on this minute?” Hans 
Christian’s cheeks were glowing from excitement. 

“Surely you may try your new suit on,” replied Mrs. 
Clausen. “Show me how it fits you.” 

And so Hans Christian dressed in the first pair of long pants 
that he had ever owned. 

Mrs. Clausen stuck a big flag out from the garret window at 
the front of the house. And she stuck a tiny flag out from 
Mette’s stable at the back of the house. 

For it was the King’s birthday! 


77 








After a while Nils came on his bicycle. “Guess what I’m 
having for you,” he cried. 

“Oh, what?” asked Hans Christian excitedly. 

“Here is a drum for you! I made it myself, for you! Here’s 
the drumstick. What shall I drum?” 

“Seven Jumps' 9 prompted Hans Christian. 

Nils began beating the rhythm of the Seven Jumps. 

And because Hans Christian knew how to dance the 
Seven Jumps , he danced it now. 

“Ba-a-a,” baaed Mette and ran at her master. The next 
minute, Hans Christian’s two legs became tangled in Mette’s 
four legs, and Mette’s four legs became tangled in Hans Chris¬ 
tian’s two legs. And when Nils saw the scramble of the six legs, 
he laughed so, that he could beat the drum no more. “Take it,” 
he cried. It’s yours.” 

Hans Christian took his new drum. “Thank you. Just think, 
now I have a willow flute and a drum!” 

“Hello, Nils,” called Mrs. Clausen from the window, “share 
our luncheon, please. There is birthday chocolate and Peasant 
Girl with Veil ” 

“Hm-m,” beamed Hans Christian, “let’s hurry.” 

“Hm-m,” grinned Nils, “Peasant Girl with Veil!" 

When luncheon was over, there was a little bit left of the 
crumbed cookies-and-applesauce, which was the Peasant Girl , 
and there was not even a little bit left of the whipped-cream 
Veil! 

“Wish I could drink another cup of chocolate,” sighed Nils. 


64 Wish I could eat another piece of Peasant Girl” sighed 
Hans Christian. 

“Have a midday rest, out in the yard,” advised Mrs. Clausen. 

Out in the yard, Hans Christian took his willow flute to blow 
a song. Nils took the drum and tried to beat it. But the boys 
had eaten so much of the Peasant Girl that they could play 
only a very slow song. 

“But now I must go home,” said Nils and turned a somer¬ 
sault. That stirred him up. 

“Farewell,” Hans Christian cried and turned two somer¬ 
saults. That stirred him up. 

And while Hans Christian turned somersaults, the doorbell 
rang “Trrr-rrrrr.” Mrs. Clausen came running into the yard, 
pit-a-pat-a-pit-a-pat. 

“Hans Chris-tian! Hans Chris-tian!” she shouted at the top 
of her lungs. Like a bundle of excitement she looked. “A mes¬ 
senger! And you must write your name! Come—quick!” 

“Goodness,” mumbled Hans Christian and ran. 

“Hans Christian Clausen?” the messenger asked sternly. 

“Yes, sir, I am Hans Christian Clausen.” 

“A package for you. Sign your name here, if you please. 
Here.” 

It took a long time before Hans Christian had finished sign¬ 
ing his long name. Far beyond the given space his letters 
tumbled. 

“Mother! you open it,” Hans Christian cried. 

“It’s yours, and you must open it,” said Mother. 


So it ended up that the two unwrapped the package together. 
First they untied a string. Then they unfolded heavy brown 
paper, then heavy grey paper, then pink tissue paper, then yel¬ 
low tissue paper. 

A long white cardboard box they opened. In the long white 
cardboard box was a long red leather case. A large white card 
fell into Hans Christian’s hand. 

“To Hans Christian Clausen, the future flutist in the 
King’s Guard.” 

BY ORDER OF THE KING 

“Mother!” Hans 
Christian pressed the tiny 
button on the red leather 
case. And then he gave a 
shout of joy! 

On a bed of velvet lay 
a sparkling silver flute! 

It was Hans Chris¬ 
tian’s birthday. It was 
the King’s birthday. 

Hans Christian was 
the happiest boy on 
earth. He owned a pair 
of long pants, a crown, 
a drum and a silver flute. 



80 











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library of congress 



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